


If My Heart Was A House

by Ottra



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fledgling Fluff, Fledglings, Fluff, Gen, PreFall!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottra/pseuds/Ottra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale as Crowley as Fledgling Angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If My Heart Was A House

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one of those fics that I always thought I would expand on but I didn't so I'm just now posting it. I named it after an Owl City song because I think it fits them and why not.
> 
> Also, I am not versed in religious things so this is really just what my headcannon is when it comes to baby angels. I hope that no one expects anything more from me.

The youngest angels hovered at the edge of vision, tiny joyful clouds of shadows and fluffy feathers. Not old enough yet to understand the intricacies of language, they communicated in happy squeals and bumbling chirps of surprise.

The older fledglings knew how to keep their shape, and played in the soft meadow. By now they had given up the bird sounds of their youth in favor of the Enochian they were taught by their older archangel brothers.

To the edge of the meadow, a tree stood proudly, its strands of leaves creating a canopy over the earth around it. In time it will be called a Willow, but for now it is just a tree.

At the base of the tree is one of the older fledglings. He has ruffled golden-blond hair that falls over his bright sky blue eyes. He sits with his knees to his chest, and his wings - folded around his knees - already manage to be messy, even without flight feathers.

This particular fledgling is named Aziraphale, and is a principality, even if he doesn't quite know what that means yet.

"Why are you sitting here alone?"

Aziraphale was surprised at the voice, as he hadn’t noticed noticed the speaker approach. He must’ve come around from the back of the tree. Aziraphale looked up at the other angel now standing beside him. His dark hair, leaf green eyes and bright white, well-kept wings easily identified him as Crawliel, a fledgling of the same age as Aziraphale. (If not a few moments younger.)

Aziraphale moved his head sideways with a smile- the closest angelic expression to a shrug. "I just like to watch our brothers and sisters, I suppose."

Crawliel wanted to ask more, but didn't, thinking of how some of the others had said that his large number of questions weren’t very polite. "... Can I sit with you?" He asked, hesitantly.

Aziraphale fixed him with a proud beaming smile, the sort of smile Crawliel would eventually respond to with mock-disdain and a muttered, 'Quiet, Angel.' For now, however, he takes it gratefully.

"Of course you can, my dear."


End file.
